The Composer
by Spectra16
Summary: A JackIrina fic, not having to do with any plot from the show. Just something I thought up. Jack goes to a concert and remembers the good ol' times.


The Composer

By Spectra16

A/N: I got this story idea when I read something about Jack "composing" the plan of making Will look like a druggie to protect him. I dunno. My mind works all the time.

Disclaimer: I don't own Alias.

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The concert hall was beautifully made, with hundreds of people awaiting the Tchaikovsky concert. Jack Bristow found it interesting how one man's music could be remembered decades after being created. He watched each musician get into their place in chairs upon the stage.

Not often did Jack go to a social event, if this was considered one, but several co-workers had suggested he relax more, since he was working harder than ever before in his life. Stress was causing sickness as well. Jack figured this concert couldn't hurt. Plus, Laura would always listen to Tchaikovsky often. He enjoyed his concertos, and reminded him of epic battles. He favored "1812", and didn't think it was at all overrated. 1812 was not quite the correct name for the song. He preferred calling it Marche slave Op. 31. Russian was his favorite language after all.

Finally, once the musicians were seated, and there stepped out one lonely man, looking like the stereotypical director/composer. He had a thin, white wand and a black over coat. Jack shifted in his seat, fingering his ticket that he had not yet discarded.

At once, the director started up the 1812 Overture, and a soft pace. The part that everyone recognizes as most popular comes much later in the song. The first part is more calm, and Russian sounding. Violins played in a soft, controlled manner, and there was an occasional trombone piece along with the violins and violas. The music began to pacen, and sounded more intense, and filled less with happy notes, and became a full-fledged march. Drums were added.

Jack's mind flooded with memories of the song. Laura danced with him to this tune. He remembered his love for her, and struggled to keep his composer. He couldn't start balling in the middle of the Overture Center.

The music changed, and it was a prideful and joyous tune now. This was the second part of the song, filled with drums and more trombones and now flutes, as if marching from a victory.

A more familiar sound to the common people was the cellos that had their short solo. The music became more drastic and unhappy. The first part ringed again, built up from the happy march that had just played. Jack's eyes now watered, knowing now that this was Laura's song. It portrayed her beauty and her outlook on life. He dabbed both eyes, and took a deep, but silent breath. He was not about to let himself cry.

The music became quiet again. No one in the audience made a sound. The music completely stopped at one point, but started again with drums and trumpets and flutes. It became happy again. Yet another 1812 victory, Jack thought to himself. He almost laughed. Heavier sounding trombones were heard, and the stereotypical 1812 overture sounded. He did laugh then, knowing no one would hear him. He let go, and started crying, but had a happy/sad smile on his face. The music quickened, and flowed through the air with such adrenaline and power. The song ended, and the whole audience stood and cheered. The director turned to the audience and bowed. He left the stage, and so did the performers. Jack sat in his seat, even as people were getting up and leaving. He stopped crying, but his tears on his cheeks were obvious, and no one stopped to ask him if he was alright. He was glad they didn't though. He needed no attention.

It took a few minutes before the seats were cleared, and he was all by himself. He couldn't stop thinking about Laura. The lights dimmed, but did not completely go out. Jack sat there a few minutes, before he heard footsteps behind him. He did not turn to acknowledge them. He sat there with his arms crossed, and got rid of his smile. The person who was in the room stepped into the line of seats that he sat in. He figured it was an usher that needed to get him out, and but sooner than he thought it through, the person kissed his forcefully. He panicked and opened his eyes out of his dream world, and pushed the woman away from him. Once he focused on her, his jaw dropped and his mind shut down. His dead wife stood before him, smiling, and wearing the most beautiful dress he had ever known.

"I love you Jack," She said quietly. She pulled out some sort of gun out of nowhere and shot him in the arm. He saw the dart in his arm and pulled it out, but not fast enough to counter whatever was in it. He sleepily dropped to the floor from out of his chair. Irina took the dart from him, hid the gun under her dress, and picked him up to sit in the chair, so that the ushers could find him and escort him home.

Irina ran to the top floor and jumped aboard a helicopter, to see Khasinau in side, waiting for her.

"Was the performance any good?" He asked, not really interested.

"I've seen better. It's such a cliché song now," She said coldly, pulling out her dart gun.

"You saw him," Khasinau said, and smiled devilishly. Irina looked at him, and grimaced.

"It's not your business. And when I tell you not to watch me, I mean it," She didn't yell, but had a certain discontent sound to her voice. He nodded and didn't speak afterwards.

Irina looked out of the small window, back at the music center. She only hoped that Jack would have some sort of recollection of their encounter, and checked his coat for finger prints. 


End file.
